


A Place In France

by slrandomperson



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Canon, Canon Compliant, Holes in Patrick's door because why not, I bet you can guess who, Just their old apartment, KIND of canon, M/M, Masturbation, Seriously though MULTIPLE masturbation scenes that I was uncomfortable writing, Somebody's being a total creep, Van Days, Van days but there's no van
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 07:42:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15702837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slrandomperson/pseuds/slrandomperson
Summary: Somebody's been carving holes in Patrick's door. Pete promises to help Patrick get to the bottom of this mystery.•••Loosely based on that time Patrick said Joe put a little peephole in his door, but kind of different. Very different.





	A Place In France

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't seen Take This To Your Apartment, that's fine, it's not really essential. However, I wanted to say that's where this idea came from. If you got here from Cami's Twitter AU, hi and I love you!
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Tumblr: sophie-m-leo

At first, Patrick thought it had always been there.

 

It was the smallest, most insignificant thing that he'd ever seen, impossible to tell how long it had been there. Patrick called a guy to come fix it.

 

Then, he thought it was termites.

 

It was back, only bigger. But only slightly, as if the termites didn't want him to notice. This time, he told Joe to look at it because it was his apartment and all four of them had to know about the situation. Joe called a guy to come kill the pests. There weren't any. They fixed it again.

 

The third time it happened, Patrick thought somebody was messing with him.

 

He then became paranoid and suspicious of everyone in the apartment, even Andy. After all, he had no idea how long it had been there, so Patrick didn't know what they had seen or what they knew. But the bottom line was that his privacy had been breached and he had the right to punch somebody in the face.

 

The fourth time it appeared, Patrick knew: somebody had been drilling holes in his door.

 

"Okay, you're all gonna' tell me what the fuck is going on," he said once the other three men were on the couch in front of him.

 

"What? You mean the hole? It's no big deal, Patrick. It wasn't even that big," Andy said.

 

Patrick raised an eyebrow. "And how do you know that?"

 

"Because you made us all look at it."

 

A few seconds of silence. "Fair point. But I know that it definitely was big enough to see through because I looked through it and you could see my bed from the hallway. So which one of you creeps is trying to spy on me for god knows what reason?"

 

Joe rolled his eyes. "Why would any of us want to spy on you?"

 

"You tell me!"

 

"It wasn't me, so I don't fucking know!"

 

Patrick groaned and collapsed onto the floor dramatically. "I can't sleep at night knowing somebody could be watching me."

 

Andy stood and stepped over Patrick's body on the floor. "Oh, get over yourself."

 

Joe followed Andy into the kitchen. "Sorry, bud, I don't know what to tell you."

 

Patrick sat up and watched his friends leave him. "Fuck you guys, I'm gonna' find out who did this!"

 

He turned back to the couch and looked at Pete, who was just sitting there with a blank expression. "It wasn't me."

 

"I know," Patrick scrambled to his feet, "that you'd never do this to me. You're my best friend, dude. That's why you're gonna' help me figure out which one of them it was."

 

That night, Patrick laid on his bed and made sure he was directly in the moonlight. He knew Andy and Joe and even Pete were all straight, so no matter who was watching, they'd want to look away and hopefully stop forever.

 

With shaky hands, Patrick pulled his jeans down. His boxers followed, and then it was just his hand around his cock. Patrick knew that Pete would never drill a hole in his fucking door, but nonetheless, as he began to stroke up and down, he imagined it was Pete that was watching him through that little hole, and that he would open the door and climb into Patrick's bed and that it was his hand moving faster around his now hard cock.

 

"Shit," he mumbled as his fantasy Pete kissed him, hard, and moved his hand with expert precision. Patrick was panting now, wanting so badly to just let it all be true. He knew that whoever was outside his door had definitely left by now, heterosexuality pumping through his veins as he left his friend to masturbate alone. But Patrick couldn't let that stop his oncoming orgasm, or the fact that fantasy Pete was grinding against his hip and whispering _I love you_ s against his jaw and jerking him off like his own life depended on it.

 

Patrick came with a soft cry, not of Pete's name because who knows who could have been listening, but simply a moan. A moan that he hoped would be deliciously irresistible to someone like Pete, but then he realized that his fantasy wasn't real and he had no reason to want to please fantasy Pete. But he did, because god Pete Wentz was amazing.

 

He drifted off into the most peaceful sleep he had all week.

 

◊◊◊◊◊◊

 

Yawning, Patrick stretched his arms over his head as he entered the kitchen. He felt especially victorious as he picked up a banana and peeled it and shoved it in his mouth, hoping that whoever may or may not have seen him got the message and backed off. But all three of them were staring at him with this guilty look, and then they all glanced over his shoulder. Slowly, Patrick turned around to look at his door.

 

There, in big bright red letters, were the words _I SAW THAT_ painted across the otherwise white door. Patrick took a step back, rubbing his eyes as if it would go away, as if he could pretend this whole thing was a dream.

 

He felt someone gently take his hand. "Come on, let's go to McDonald's or something and get you out of here."

 

Patrick gratefully followed Pete down the stairs and outside to Joe's van, letting go of his hand as he climbed into the passenger seat. When Pete hopped in and shut the door, Patrick closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat.

 

"This whole thing is so messed up."

 

Pete bit his lip and drummed his fingers against the wheel, pulling out of the driveway. It took everything Patrick had to not drool at the sight. "What did it mean?"

 

"What did what mean?"

 

"'I saw that.' What did they see, Patrick?"

 

"I don't get why that—"

 

"Because it'll help us figure out who did this. Now tell me what they saw. Please."

 

Pete was being surprisingly calm. Usually, he would be swearing left and right, but now he just seemed worried for Patrick's well-being. Patrick remained silent. He can't just tell Pete that he'd been caught jacking off; that's _weird._

 

"Patrick, come on, you can trust me. What did you do?"

 

Patrick rolled his eyes. "What do you _think_ I did?"

 

Pete went quiet. "Oh."

 

"Yeah. I was trying to make them go away, but that obviously didn't fucking work. I'm starting to think it wasn't even either of them."

 

"You think it was _me_?"

 

"No! No, I mean somebody else. Someone that doesn't live with us."

 

Pete frowned. "You think somebody broke into our apartment to watch you masturbate through holes in your door?"

 

Patrick's face flushed a hot red. "I don't know. It sounds crazy, I guess."

 

And that was that.

 

When they arrived at McDonald's, Pete got a hamburger Happy Meal because he's ten years old, but Patrick had lost his appetite by then. They sat by the window in the corner despite Patrick's protests to sit as far away from it as possible.

 

"Do you not want people to see us together? Are you that ashamed of me?" Pete asked, fanning himself dramatically. "I'm sorry I'm not good enough."

 

"Can you shut up for one second and help me figure out who's drilling holes in my fucking door? Don't make me start thinking it's you."

 

Pete scoffed. "Of course it's not me."

 

"I _know_ that. That's why I've enlisted you to help. _Help_ , Pete, not be dramatic."

 

"Well, to be honest, I think you're the one who's being dramatic. It's like what Andy said: no big deal."

 

Patrick's jaw dropped. "How is this no big deal? Somebody's purposefully watching me jack off! Purposefully!"

 

"I dunno', if I were you I'd be flattered," Pete said, shrugging. "If somebody wanted to watch me, I'd take it as a compliment. Maybe give 'em something good to watch."

 

"Are you fucking kidding me? I'm not gonna'...Stop making me suspect it's you; I don't like thinking about it."

 

Pete sipped his chocolate milk. "And why would it be such a problem if it were me?"

 

Patrick wanted to slap him. Of course it wouldn't be a problem—well, no, it would actually be a problem, even if it was Pete. No matter who it was, this was a breach of privacy, not to mention it was generally fucking creepy and only a psycho would ever go this far.

 

"Because that would mean my best friend is a psycho creep with a weird infatuation with watching me jerk off. Which, by the way, is hella scary."

 

Pete hummed. "Yeah, it would be pretty weird. Eh, I guess we'll just see what happens tonight."

 

"Can we go now? I don't like this place. It smells like shit."

 

When they got back to their apartment and Patrick had a chance to cover the hole in his door with a piece of paper so he could momentarily enjoy his privacy, he decided to check up on The Blog. Pete's blog, specifically, the one that he knew Patrick could potentially see but didn't think he would ever actually search for.

 

_mar 12- 2k??_

_it's a labor of love- the way i drill each thought into your head when i could plant it like a seed instead.you know that i love you and im completely fucked because of it- i don't know if I'm in love but i love you. i love you and I'll say it again, i'd gladly blow holes in your ship if itmeans you cant set sail away from me. ive worked hard to make you fear me- i've worked hard to make you look forward to being afraid of what i am to you. I hope you hate me less and less eachday, but i know youll hate me for good if i let you see the floor.i covered it up with dirty laundry and i don't plan on cleaning today- ive got more empty spaces to fill._

 

Patrick sighed. His best friend was a poet and he knew it. His best friend was a hopeless romantic and he denied it, swapping out romance for fucking girls in the bathroom without purpose. Pete had something good going for him, he was blessed with wit and snarky humor and comebacks that poison you like the smallest scorpions and you never see it coming, but there's the _When you catch fire I wouldn't piss to put you out_ and you barely see it coming before Pete Wentz personally attacks you in the least personal way possible.

 

And Patrick has no idea what to make of that post. There's a plethora of girls that Pete has both told and not told Patrick about, so who knows which one this mess was directed at? More importantly, who cares? Definitely not Patrick.

 

When Joe knocked on Patrick's door in the later evening, he called, "Come in!" and closed his laptop.

 

"Hey," he said simply, sitting on the edge of Patrick's bed.

 

"What's up?"

 

Joe frowned, looking at the door covered in paper. "I'm sorry that we brushed off your concerns. That was a shitty move."

 

"It's fine," Patrick said, shrugging.

 

"No, it's not. Somebody is harassing you and it's really not fine. And," Joe said, pausing to lower his voice to a whisper, "I think if it is any of us, it would be Pete."

 

Patrick was silent for a second to absorb the information. "What? Why would you even suggest—"

 

"Listen, I know he's your best friend and I know you don't want to suspect him, but I think he's the most likely culprit. I know it's not me and I don't think Andy would ever do something like this."

 

"But why would Pete want to poke holes in my door?"

 

Joe bit his lip. "Because Pete—"

 

Andy pounded on the door. "Dinner time! I worked hard on this mac n' cheese so you all better appreciate it!"

 

As they heard footsteps leading away into the kitchen, Joe moved toward the door. "Wait, because Pete _what_?"

 

"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...You'll have to ask him yourself." Joe slipped out the door and headed to the kitchen.

 

When Patrick joined the other three men at the table a few minutes later, he realized they hadn't all had a sit-down-together meal in what felt like forever. It was nice.

 

And then Pete ruined it. "So which one of you is the psycho creep?"

 

Andy dropped his fork, flinging vegan cheese substitute up toward the ceiling. "How about we talk about this later? You, know, after we fuckin' eat like normal fuckin' people do."

 

"No. We need to get to the bottom of this."

 

Patrick looked at Joe, wondering how he could suspect Pete of all people. Pete was the most involved detective on the case, and Joe thought he had done it? Besides, Pete had no reason to spy on him. Then again, neither did the other guys.

 

Timidly placing a hand on Pete's shoulder, Patrick quietly said, "Pete, it's fine."

 

"But it's not," Pete said, staring into Patrick's eyes. His accusing gaze burned like the sun.

 

"We can talk about it _later_."

 

Pete stared at him for a second. He said nothing else as he went back to eating his mac n' cheese, but he hooked his ankle around Patrick's under the table where the other guys wouldn't notice. See? He was just trying to be a good friend and help out. Patrick didn't get what Joe's deal was.

 

When nighttime rolled around once more, Patrick watched the other three guys slip into their own rooms. As Pete turned to shut his door, their eyes met for a few seconds. "Goodnight, 'Trick."

 

"'Night."

 

A few moments passed. "You know, I—"

 

"Can you two shut up?" Andy's voice called from his room.

 

Pete's low laugh made Patrick's heart swell and burn up his chest from the inside out. He couldn't help but grin. "See you tomorrow," Pete said, winking before he closed the door.

 

Patrick sat for a moment and waited for some mysterious figure to manifest from the wall or solidify from the dust particles in the air. When nothing happened for five minutes, he sighed and headed back to his room. He stared at the piece of paper covering the hole in his door for a second before ripping it off. Pete thought he should give them something good to watch? He'll give them something fucking fantastic.

 

Patrick took his time getting undressed. As he peeled off his jeans, he bent down and made sure to be as teasing as possible. His shirt was the next thing to come off, which Patrick was quite nervous about. He hated not having a shirt on.

 

Then he made his way to the bed, angling himself so his hips were pointed right at the door. He slowly pulled down his boxers, wrapping a hand around his cock as soon as he felt the cold air against it. He wasn't totally hard yet, but once his mind got going, imagining Pete was pressed up against him, it was almost a miracle how fast he got it up. He didn't start stroking yet, however. He had other plans first.

 

Patrick trailed his other hand down his body, coming to rest between his legs. He spread them to provide a better view, if anyone was still watching after realizing what he was going to do. He shuddered as his fingers ghosted his hole, teasing himself just the way he imagined Pete would. Eventually, it got to be too much to bear, so he pushed one finger inside with a small but audible gasp.

 

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, knowing that anyone watching from behind the door could hear. He hoped the creep was getting off to this so he could have an excuse to punch them in the jaw.

 

Patrick arched his back and rocked against his fingers as he added a second, fucking himself just like he wanted Pete to do it. And then a third, and he moaned involuntarily. He had found the spot.

 

"Holy shit," Patrick groaned, his legs twitching a bit. He began to stroke his hard, leaking cock. It was slow and sensual and he hoped it was a good show. As he moved his fingers faster, he followed suit with his hand, up and down and more sloppy as he began to lose all sense of reality.

 

Patrick couldn't stop the almost porn-like moans coming out of his mouth as he hit that spot over and over and over again and he worked his dick faster and faster and Pete was whispering into his ear, _I love you, I love you, I love you, you're doing so good baby, you're mine, you're my everything, I love you._

 

He came with a whine that was beyond the range of any performance he ever thought he could muster. But holy shit he was literally shaking from how good that orgasm was, and as he came down he just laid there in shock.

 

When the buzz wore off and he could think straight again, Patrick sat up. "To whatever perv is out there, I hope you fucking enjoyed that."

 

He pulled the covers over his body and closed his eyes, drifting off into dreams of Pete. As usual.

 

◊◊◊◊◊◊

 

Morning brought sunlight and terror. Patrick was afraid to see what would now be on his door, if anything. He hoped that now this mysterious stalker had finally decided to leave him alone.

 

Patrick apprehensively pulled the door open, hands shaking. He looked up at it to see the words _I KNOW WHAT YOU DID IN THE DARK_ painted just below _I SAW THAT_ , red paint drips dry against the white door. He stepped out of the room and left the door open so he wouldn't have to look at the bright red words. When he walked into the living room he saw Pete sitting on the couch, furiously tapping away at his Sidekick.

 

"Pete?" he asked quietly.

 

Pete's gaze snapped up and he frowned as he looked at Patrick. "I saw the door."

 

"I'm scared."

 

"You can sleep in my room tonight if you want. I can take the couch—"

 

"No!" Patrick interrupted, throwing his hand out in protest. "I mean, no. Like, you don't have to take the couch. Can you, um, also stay in your room?"

 

Pete raised an eyebrow. "If you're asking me to sleep with you, sure, that's fine."

 

Blushing, Patrick sat on the couch beside him. "Thank you," he said softly.

 

Pulling him into a hug, Pete whispered, "I got you," against his forehead. Patrick had to fight back a shudder.

 

A few hours later, they were still curled up on the couch, Patrick's head on Pete's chest, feeling it rise and fall as the older boy napped. Andy and Joe were in the kitchen, as they had decided it was better to not bother the two boys on the couch. Patrick's eyes were closed, but he didn't want to sleep. He didn't want to miss a single second of this.

 

Pete mumbled something in his sleep as his hand tugged at Patrick's hair, head lolling to the side. Patrick smiled and leaned into it, feeling Pete's other arm tighten around his waist, pulling him closer. Patrick loved the closeness, but if Pete were awake right now he'd punch the guy. Pete didn't need to know he enjoyed the teasing.

 

"Oh, you're...," he groaned, barely audible.

 

Laughing lightly, Patrick reached up to pat the man's cheek. He was so cute when he dreamed. Patrick wondered what he was dreaming about.

 

Pete suddenly jolted awake, and Patrick bolted upright as Pete's hands left his body. "Are you okay?" he asked, pretending that he hadn't just been curled up next to him.

 

"Y-Yeah...Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry," Pete said, half-smiling.

 

"Guys, we made lunch like an hour ago," Joe called, leaving the kitchen to alert the boys. "It's now-very-cold pizza."

 

Patrick hopped off the couch and smiled down at Pete. "Come on."

 

"I don't wanna' move," he whined, holding out his hand.

 

Patrick rolled his eyes and tried to pull Pete off the couch. "You _know_ I'm not that strong."

 

"Keep trying," Pete said, yawning just to be an asshole.

 

Groaning, Patrick just dropped his hand. "You're impossible."

 

As the day went on, Patrick found himself wondering how any of these people could ever do something so invasive. They were all his good friends, and he didn't understand why any of them would want to hurt him. It just didn't make sense.

 

They ate dinner at, like, eleven o'clock as usual. Andy had already gone off to bed, but the rest of them were in the living room watching the tiny television. Joe was on the floor while Patrick sat on the couch, Pete's legs across his lap as he laid down. Occasionally, Patrick would glance over to see that Pete was grinning up at him, not even paying a little bit of attention to the TV.

 

"Okay," Joe sighed, "I'm going to sleep."

 

"I should probably go, too," Patrick said.

 

"See you guys in the morning." Joe disappeared into his room.

 

Just as Patrick was about to push Pete's legs off of him, the older boy scrambled to a sitting position beside him. "You still down for sleeping with me?"

 

Patrick blushed. "I can't go back to my room. No way."

 

Pete grinned. "Cool. Now on a scale of one to ten, how rough do you want the sex to be?"

 

"Oh my _god_ ," Patrick groaned, shoving Pete off the couch. He managed to grab hold of Patrick's arm, however, dragging both of them down to the floor.

 

Patrick ended up on top of Pete, knees on either side of his waist, Pete's hands resting on his hips. It was only after their uproarious laughter had died down that he noticed. Pete was staring up at him with this half smile and a glint in his eye that Patrick didn't like one bit. He knew that if he didn't move right now, he'd definitely do something he'd regret.

 

Rolling off of Pete, Patrick came to the conclusion that he had gone insane. Completely crazy. There's no way that the look Pete was giving him meant what he thought it did. No fucking way.

 

"Alright, let's go," he said, hopping to his feet.

 

Pete just wrapped himself around Patrick's leg. "Drag me, baby."

 

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Get up, loser," he said, kicking Pete away.

 

When Pete closed the door behind them, Patrick came to the full realization that this was the first night he would successfully deter the creep. He smiled to himself.

 

"What?" Pete asked, flopping down onto the bed.

 

"Nothing." Patrick timidly crawled under the blankets beside him, and Pete immediately curled up right next to him.

 

Right by Patrick's ear, he whispered, "I hope you know that I'd protect you from anything."

 

Shuddering, Patrick just quietly said, "I know."

 

Pete didn't move away, just nestled his face into the crook of Patrick's neck, making himself comfortable. Patrick fell asleep with a smile on his face and Pete stuck to him like glue.

 

◊◊◊◊◊◊

 

Eyes flew open. Patrick really fucking needed to pee.

 

It was still the middle of the night, so as he regained his senses, Patrick's breath caught in his throat. Pete was properly tangled around him, one leg hooked over Patrick's hip, an arm around his waist and the other resting under his head. If he moved back just a little bit, they would be pressed crotch-to-ass.

 

Gently prying Pete's limbs away from him, Patrick rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up. He really fucking had to pee. He set one foot on the floor, stood with the other, and then—

 

_Squish._

 

Patrick looked down. He cringed and peeled off his sock, balancing on one foot and hobbling around as quietly as he could. Holding the sock up in front of his face, he found that it was soaked all the way through with something red. His first thought was _Blood, oh shit I stepped on a nail_ , but his foot felt fine. The next logical step was to examine the floor. Patrick's urge to pee suddenly disappeared.

 

Slowly spilling out in every direction from under the bed was a trail of some kind of thick, red liquid. Patrick kneeled beside the expanding puddle and lowered his head to look under the bed, squeezing his eyes shut and praying there wasn't a dead body down there. When he opened them once again, he sighed with relief at the sight of a paint bucket that had been tipped over. So, no bleeding corpse.

 

But Patrick was confused. What did Pete need red paint for? And then he saw it: behind the bucket of paint was an electric drill. Beside the power tool was a wood carving knife.

 

Scrambling across the floor toward the door, Patrick's eyes went wide. His hand dragged the paint across the carpet, probably permanently staining it, but he didn't care. He stood and flung the door open, tripping back into his room and falling onto the bed.

 

_Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit._

 

Patrick couldn't sleep. How would you expect him to when he was now (rightfully) paranoid that his best friend was watching him? He ran through the conversations in his mind.

 

" _Maybe give 'em something good to watch_." God, it was so obvious! How had he not seen it? All the signs were there; he just didn't want to believe that Pete would do something like that.

 

Actually, now that Patrick was thinking about it, he realized what this meant. Pete had seen him. Pete knew what he did, and Pete knew that Patrick...Well, being male and fingering yourself could only mean one thing.

 

Patrick laid awake until the sun came up and hours after. He was still wide awake by the time he heard shuffling in the kitchen and the sizzling sound of bacon being made, probably by Joe. He wanted to stay curled up in his room forever, he never wanted to leave. He just wanted to shut everybody on the other side of the door and flip them off through the hole.

 

 _Knock knock_.

 

"Who?" he asked simply, not bothering to phrase the rest of the question.

 

"It's me," Joe's voice said. He pushed the door open a little bit. "Breakfast is ready, if you want it."

 

Patrick rolled onto his stomach. "Not hungry."

 

Joe sighed. "Do you need to talk?"

 

"No."

 

"Thank god," he sounded relieved, "because I suck at feelings 'n shit. See you in a bit."

 

The door closed, and Patrick felt the anger boil up in his chest. He hated Pete for doing what he did. He hated Pete for invading his privacy and encouraging him to do _dirty things_ and then go act like he cared about getting to the bottom of this mystery. In a fit of rage, Patrick flung himself off the bed and stomped into the kitchen, finding the three guys sitting at the table. Andy was chomping on an apple as the others stuffed bacon down their throats. Classy.

 

"Pete," Patrick said through his teeth. "Can I talk to you for a second?"

 

Pete raised an eyebrow. "Sure, Lunchbox. Hold on."

 

"No. Come here. Now." Patrick tapped his foot.

 

Putting his hands up in surrender, Pete stood. "Jesus, somebody's not happy. What'd I do this time, 'Tricky?"

 

Patrick grabbed his arm and dragged Pete into his room. He was a flaming ball of pure fury, and no matter what Pete said to justify this, he would not forgive him. This was unforgivable. Their friendship would be permanently tainted.

 

"I'm gonna' cut the bullshit." He pointed to the door. "I know that's you."

 

Pete took a second to respond. "What?"

 

"You're drilling holes in my door."

 

He laughed nervously. "I don't know what you're—"

 

"Don't _lie_ to me; I already know it's you. Now tell me why."

 

Pete sucked in a breath, looking a little scared. "I-I...I'm sorry, Patrick—"

 

"Stop _fucking_ apologizing and tell me why you're being a fucking creepy psycho stalker!" Patrick shouted, shoving Pete against the wall.

 

"I didn't mean to—it started as a joke, but then you, I..." Pete squeezed his eyes shut. "Then I got curious."

 

"What does that..." Patrick pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose, blinking. "What does that mean?"

Carefully peeling Patrick's hands off of him, Pete pushed away from the wall. "I started wondering, you know, about what you get up to at night."

 

"Wh- _Why_?"

 

"Because I'd hear those delicious noises and I wanted to know what you thought about." Pete licked his lips. "So tell me, Patrick, what did you think about when you were fingering yourself?"

 

Patrick stepped backward. "Fuck you."

 

"Was it some random hot guy? Was it a guy on one of those album covers of yours?" Pete narrowed the distance between them once again. "Were you thinking about someone you know?"

 

"Fuck. _Off_."

 

Pete's gaze seemed to darken as he stood toe-to-toe with Patrick. "Did you think about me fucking you? It'd be so good. I could make you feel so good, better than any guy you would ever imagine."

 

"You really shouldn't—"

 

Pete cut him off with a swift kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I promise I'd make you feel good," he whispered into Patrick's ear.

 

Patrick gulped, forgetting his rage. "No."

 

"Aw, why not?" Pete pouted, pulling away.

 

"Because this isn't you. I don't like this version of you."

 

Pete's patronizing smirk dropped immediately. "What do you mean?"

 

"I don't like you like this. It's degrading." Patrick stepped away. "And if it's the only version of you that likes me, then I don't want it."

 

Patrick moved for the door, but Pete grabbed his wrist. "Wait, 'Trick, I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you're right." He pulled Patrick back over to him, hot whiskey eyes staring adoringly down into baby blue.

 

"Go to hell," Patrick said, but his heart wasn't really in it, and it sounded more like a weak whimper.

 

"I don't want to mess this up," Pete whispered. "I shouldn't have done that, I know. But it was the only way I ever thought I'd be able to..." He trailed off and took another breath. "I hate how I know the way your skin hovers over mine better than the way it feels. I hate it so fucking much. I just...I just want to touch you."

 

Patrick, against every rational thought being pushed forward by his last remaining brain cell, grabbed Pete's face and pulled him into a kiss. It wasn't as heated as it would have been just a few moments ago, so Pete went slowly and even draped his arms over Patrick's shoulders.

 

"You're a fucking idiot. You should have just asked," Patrick mumbled against Pete's skin.

 

"Yeah, because that would have gone over well. 'Hey, Patrick, wanna' let me watch you masturbate?'"

 

Patrick laughed and shook his head. "You're so weird."

 

Pete kissed him again. "Seriously though, can I?"

 

"Not yet. You have to give me a few days to get over the perv vibes you're dishing out."

 

"Come on," Pete whined.

 

"You have to learn that your actions have consequences," Patrick said, sighing and poking Pete on the nose. "Now go eat breakfast and let me jerk off _alone_."

 

Pete chuckled. "You're cute when you're mad."

 

"Lucky for you, I'll probably be mad at you a lot."

 

Kissing him again, Pete just said, "Man, I'm looking forward to that."

**Author's Note:**

> Drop a comment and a kudos if you enjoyed <3
> 
> Peep my Tumblr at sophie-m-leo
> 
> PS: Just gonna say here that this is not a good thing to do at all and if somebody invades your privacy like this, even if you're madly in love with them, get the fuck outta there.


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